Scented Oinment
by PandoraxBakaNeko
Summary: Behind the sidelines, there was only one woman who irked him at best yet tended him in his most strained days. She changed...into a woman ready to scold you as if she was your mother. Yet he didn't care, she was his childhood friend. And his ever diligent caretaker. (ZenxOC) (one-shot)


**A/N:** Thank you for reading! This just popped in my mind a little after making _Porcelain Faces_. This is my second OC one-shot in Nurarihyon no Mago in fanfiction and I hope you enjoy reading, as well as I hope that I serve Zen's character justice!

* * *

_Scented Ointment_

* * *

On the front step of his majestic manor, he was welcomed with open arms like any proud master to be greeted by his loyal servants. Oh no. Zen had thought otherwise. Though the line of attendants with their polite accosts served him the feeling of significance and of royalty, a ghastly pang in his chest made him pin a fact that he shouldn't be too cozy in his own home. Not yet.

As he walked towards the endless sea of kind words, his ears heard the sound of infernal tapping – rather, an impatient tapping at that. Then and there his crimson irises locked at a young lass with braided brunette hair and cerulean eyes – she was the epitome of all horror herself. Her glare kept a noticeable trait that she was certainly unpleased and vexed while her arms was crossed huffily as if he was caught in trouble.

She curtsied a bow and greeted, "Welcome back, Zen-sama." Though masked with all refinedness, he knew there was that sharp edge in her voice that felt like a cold dagger sliding to his skin.

"Yukiji," he nodded in acknowledgement, slightly timorous.

"Let me escort you, Zen-sama." The brunette stated calmly as her feet darted off with her master right behind her. "How was your day?" she asked with an aloof face.

"Fine." The head of the Zen group replied, not willing to tell any more of his entire afternoon.

"_Oh_," spoke her unsatisfied lips. "This morning, you left without telling me a word where you were nor reminding me you were about to take off. Is there any particular reason for that, Zen-_sama_?" Now he hit a landmine. He expected much from her as he left earlier, taking one step ahead from her. Much to his dismay, she won't let him off so easily without a sermon at hand. He knew Yukiji much than any other when her buttons were pushed too far. And he was not willing to face her wrath.

His lips remained silent, pressed to themselves, while the maiden eagerly waited for a reply. With a glamorous, delicately-crafted fusuma sprawled in front of them, it signed that they've reached their final destination – the master's chambers. Her delicate hands slid the door open for her khaki-haired master then pushed it back soundlessly.

Turning her heel to look back at him, she shot out, "_Where_ were you?" her voice held a stringent tone.

"You have no business with my affairs." He lashed with a grunt.

Yukiji crossed her arms dutifully as if scolding a five-year old tod. "On the contrary, all the strings of my affairs are tied with you."

Zen turned his back at her, unable to look at those judicial eyes. "You are _not_ my mother." His arms folded with his chin tipped.

"I'm worse than that – I'm _your_ caretaker." She retorted with a siding snarl in her tone. "Your health is the very center of your clan's future." Truth be told, that was a fact. For the past generations the Zen yokai are fragile and ephemeral creatures who had such decrepit stamina, each heir must preserve their stable condition in order for them to perform their duties to lead their clan. But through this reason came Yukiji's sole purpose in her life which was to be the one who tends for him in drastic situations and prolong the remaining strength left within her feeble master.

The silence crept in. He couldn't open his mouth nor even spit a lie at the ignored woman. Her brows knitted together with a palpable conception as to what secret deeds he has been attending. "You were at Nurarihyon's territory, weren't you?" his clenched fist meant her notion was correct. "How many times have I told you to not do something that may strain your health? You know travelling that far could have aroused harm for you, let alone, in your condition, any danger could have come any minute."

Infuriated, he turned only to face the deeply livid expression in her face. "I am not an infant to be taken care of!"

"Yet you act like one through your actions!" pointed the brunette. With a sigh, her hands neatly folded her sleeves up to her elbows. "Zen-sama, pardon me for what am I about to do…"

"What—!"

Without a second to spare, her fingers clawed his hakama with no ounce of mercy and stripped of the silken fabric off his flesh, exposing his liberated wings. Once her blue orbs had contact with his tanned skin, it was an undeniable fact that her widened eyes was a sign that she has seen the dreadful battle scars and gashes he has proudly attained from a coincidental yet sorely painful fray. Then and there, he expected a long day ahead of him.

"What is the meaning of this— were you caught in a fracas!" muttered her lips in discontent, unwilling to release his ruffled hakama.

The Zen heir writhed with an attempt to be freed from her iron grasp. "Unhand me at once, woman!"

"Hold still and lower your voice." Her lips bitterly chided, glaring at bloody gashes and bruises tattooed in his limp limbs and back. "These wounds…so you _were_ caught in a fight." Silence. She knew what it meant. With a distasteful click of her tongue, she dashed away with a mission to scavenge the medical equipment she always prepared at the lounging cabinets in his quarters. Afterwards, she left only to return with a basin of hot water and a piece of cloth cradled by her hands.

"Sit." Leaving no complaint from him, he did what she asked while she came to his side, dampening the cloth and shoving it relentlessly at his fresh wounds. He winced. She gave no reply. Nor pity for the penitent man. One of the things Zen understood from Yukiji's ill nature is that she can never get a husband too soon if that hapless lad had enough guts to tame her grudges.

As her nimble fingers sprawled plaster in his wounds, she spoke, "Do you know that irresponsibility is led to face consequence?"

"You do not have to remind me." A whine graced his dissatisfied lips.

Still stoic, she did not hesitate applying ointment to his hideous scars while replying, "You are correct, I shouldn't remind you. I should just scold a straight five hours until I beat your thick skull into it."

A dignified huff was released by him. "What now, Yukiji? Will you rid me of my undergarments as well?"

Her brow twitched. "Do you wish for me to humiliate your honor by showing you in public in full glory?" Zen could feel her ominous aura sending chills down his spine. Her meek guise might look deceiving but it was no comparison with her snarky attitude.

"No, ma'am." He gulped.

"Good," she commented, feeling accomplished and somewhat impressed with herself for undermining his taunt. A weary sigh draped her lips. "Kami, you have not changed one bit from your carelessness since we were younger."

"And with your grouchiness, you've proven your full transformation." Said a very observant Zen. During their juvenile days, the master was young and very brash at the time…but more or less, Zen was a lonely child who lacked the presence of friends. Rikuo and Shuhei were his closest and most nearest companions he shared merry ventures with. Though, it was a shame that the three lived from distant places and a fragile yokai couldn't always withstand the price of risking his health for visiting his playmates.

There came a young Yukiji at his forlorn childhood that gave even a glimpse of spryness in his misery. Eventually, the little lass was the only daughter of his father's caretaker and was soon to carry on her mother's responsibilities for the awaited heirs of the Zen group. It took time yet the two made a bond of amity with each other then drifted as friends. They both were careless, frivolous, and quite the idlers...pranking the staff and jumping through some sort of trouble everyday yet managing to laugh it all. Yes, those were the days…

But when they've reached their adolescence, she changed…a bit too uptight.

She humphed, tipping her chin above. "Mind you, I only matured unlike a certain heir…"

"Quit scolding, I understand you're angry. Get over it!" he complained but received another one of her ghastly glares.

"If you quit acting like you can do whatever you will!"

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are!" she corrected.

"Dashing off like that without everyone knowing what might have happened to you! You worried me—" There was a slight pause. "_And_ everyone sick!"

"I had important matters to deal with the third heir!" claimed her master. Her mouth drooped into a more unpleasant frown. Third heir this, third heir that…it was always about the third heir that gave her a nasty feeling in her chest. Probably, it would be expected of him to mention Nurarihyon's grandson in between an exchange of arguments because it was always about that _halfling_. He was considered as a brother to him after all, but what about her? Did he not care for her concern?

"Yet it would have been better if I accompanied you there!" the caretaker added. "And despite that, if you have brought me, I would have at least warded you off that quarrel and this whole mess could have been at least avoided!"

"You cannot hold off a fight!"

Yukiji raised her voice, unable to accept her master's and friend's decisions. "Do you understand what could have happened to you if you died from it! If you strained yourself too far!" she silenced her lips, knowing she had gone too far with her words. He couldn't come back with a reply as well. Her back arched politely. "I apologize for being discourteous, Zen-sama. I'll be right back." She said, taking hold of the basin and cloth.

As she left, Zen turned his head back at her direction, annoyed with himself for using the wrong choice of words.

* * *

"Yukiji dear, you seem upset. Has something happened?" asked a frail woman, concern was buried deep within the creases of age in her face.

Her daughter replied, failing to mask her grievance, "I'm perfectly fine, mother. Just peachy." Her hands poured the red-patched water at the sink and twisted the faucet, allowing the water to cleanse the remnants of blood soaked from the basin.

"Care to tell me what made you wear such a face?" If she knew one person that always made her daughter act so disconcerted, it would only lead to one conclusion…"Does this involve Zen-sama?"

"Mother, why are men so…so irking! You are to obliged to take care of him and then when you tell _him _to cease his carelessness, he goes off without telling a single word and comes back with a new set of wounds and scars!" Yukiji complained sourly.

_Oh, so that's how it happened… _"Yukiji, Zen-sama is a grown man. You can't always be there to take care of him."

"Mother, I am his _caretaker_." She corrected.

"I am aware, but you cannot control his decisions," the elderly woman lectured with an endearing smile. "And, there is always a time for you to rest if needed. You don't have to act as his caretaker every day."

Her fingers caressed her temples, not very enthusiastic about their conversation nor will her swelling headache falter. A sigh interrupted. "I don't trust him to come home in one piece."

"Are you alright, dear?" She noticed the obvious distress in her face.

"I'm fine, mother. Just a headache this morning, nothing much." A reassuring answer responded.

"Are you really that worried of him?"

"I am not _that_ worried. I am just concerned of the future of the clan," she explained with solemnity. "We, the Aosaginohi, whom committed sakazuki with the Zen group and are custody under their protection, will have to perish and find another clan to serve. Mother, I would not wish for that."

"Oh, I see…" trailed her old, cracking lips. Yet still tugged into its motherly smile. "Maybe, this does not really concern about our future, but rather, do you still, perhaps, hold onto your childhood feelings for Zen-sama?"

Anzu may be withering, but it does not mean her perception is aging as well. Her little butterfly was so small then and so innocent. Maybe, it was an unescapable fact that those bubbling feelings ripened along with her as she and the young master grew up together. Yukiji changed somewhat mature and a little bit too concerned.

If she could recall correctly, the young maiden would rise early for him only to prepare the daily remedies he needed to consume. And at times, she would be perched near the windowsill when he is gone, waiting for his arrival. One more fact was that she was in the right age of her prime and had never had thought of having a spouse. One time, Jiro, a quite noble and dashing yokai, asked her to be his darling wife, but in a blink of an eye, she rejected his proposal so easily. Maybe, it would have been because she only had eyes for one man in particular…

She could be stubborn and sometimes, tend to not listen to others, but those traits of hers sometimes reminded Anzu of something familiar. _Worrying…is a common trait of a wife when waiting for her husband. _Light tittering escaped her lips from the thought.

Yukiji exclaimed, a bright blush covered her face to her ears, "_Mother_! I-I would _never_ love such a careless man!"

"Hmm, whatever you say," her mothered answered in content. "Say, aren't you supposed to go back to Zen-sama?"

"Oh, right!"

* * *

With her knees folded neatly behind the fusuma, the Aosaginohi woman stated, trying her best to not let her nausea consume her, "Pardon me," her hands slid the door as silent as possible. "Zen-sama, I've brought you your medicine."

"Leave it there." Zen replied nimbly. After sucking up enough air, he turned his head to follow her gaze. "About earlier, I'm sorry if I— "

His scarlet irises popped open once he caught a glimpse of the maiden sprawled at the tatami floor, wheezing. "Yukiji!" he ran to her side, scrutinizing her weakened figure and holding her as if a delicate glass doll. A hand clamped itself gently at her perspiring forehead. "You're burning up."

She slapped his hand away, trying to arise. "I-I'm fine. Just drink your medicine."

"Not with that fever of yours." He intruded with maturity.

Collectedly securing a hand at her arm and the other underneath her knees, he carried her lightly and drifted away from his chambers. It muddled her stiff to the bone. Never in all of her life was she lifted by _him_— considering the fact that in her mind, it was always the other way around. "W-what are you doing, Zen-sama?" she asked, confused and unwilling to accept his actions.

"Taking you to your room, what else?" his response made her further deny his attempts.

"Let go! Go back to rest!"

"Do you still think you are capable of performing your tasks when you're ill?" she was unable to answer him…and that was the first. His mouth made a 'tsk' sound with his tongue. "How careless. Your job is supposed to take care of me, not the other way around." he notioned with a pang of proudness of shushing his friend and slight smugness as he lectured his ever diligent sermonist.

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

It was a first, though he found Yukiji's retired face somewhat pleasing to the eyes. Instead of a face that hoarded a list of unpleasant scolds and lectures, he found this one peaceful and he preferred it if he saw her asleep and unconcerned of the world. Her discomfort was caught once her head tossed and turned, finding a decent way to rest. His eyes landed on her bothersome braid.

His hand grasped her hair in a lenient manner and slid the knot of it, liberating her stray strands. His slender fingers smoothed her chestnut locks that spluttered at her mat akin to a waterfall. In a way, this might help her drift into repose easily. Though her hair was free, he could not ignore the fragrance it released. It was clearly not perfume, or the docile fruits and flowers one found from the scent of common women.

Her scent was of the herbs and ointment she always prepared for him. It was not really that bad. With an attempt of fleeing, a hand gripped his which led him to a halt.

"Don't leave…"

"Why?" Zen asked.

Her lidded eyes opened, trying to maintain her strict composure. "If you leave, you're going to ignore what I've said about going back to rest," she reasoned calmly. "Despite that, if you're here, I could still keep surveillance of you if you tried to do something to strain yourself…so remain."

He sighed. "…Fine."

Though unnoticed, their hands never released each other's grip.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Nurarihyon no Mago.


End file.
